


My All

by singingmylife



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: 1x04 onwards, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Rewrite, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingmylife/pseuds/singingmylife
Summary: What if Daphne knew Simon COULD have kids from the beginning?Canon rewrite starting at the 1x04 duel.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 31
Kudos: 98





	1. Cannot and Will not

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a story in a billion years. In fact I'm pretty sure my most recent work predates this site. So...we shall see how this goes. 
> 
> Oh and this random title is because while writing I was just listening to "My All" by Mariah Carey on an endless loop. Really got me in that mood.

As the last vestiges of dusk gave way to dawn, the arboreal surroundings were luminous against the desolate plains. It should have been beautiful. And yet, here stood two men back-to-back, guns tightly fastened within their grasps.

Benedict and Will were on the outskirts viewing the proceedings with a sense of foreboding. There was a certain helplessness in being the second of a duel.

Benedict kept adjusting his stance, as if to counteract any joint stiffness lest he stand guard too long. His constant movement was unconscious though, for he remained deep in thought about the increasing certainty of becoming the new Viscount. He had never expected to bear such a burden, and he did not know if he fancied these new developments. As a child he wanted nothing more than to be the man of the house. But as the years past, he had grown comfortable in his role and the freedoms he could enjoy within it. Regardless, he prayed that Anthony would escape unscathed, however unlikely that seemed with each passing minute.

Will, for his part, still felt the buzz of alcohol tingling his senses. He could not help but reflexively ball his hands into fists at his sides, as if to ground himself in reality. Though he had come to appreciate his friendship with the Duke, he could not help but be preoccupied with the reverberations these events would have on his own life, on his family’s life. Basset had been his most ardent supporter, and more importantly, financial backer. Without him, Will’s career was in grave jeopardy, as it had been a struggle even with the Duke’s efforts. He wished he could take another swig right about now.

Will chanced a glance towards Benedict. He saw the same pained expression masquerading as stoicism. Yes, being a second was a thankless task indeed.

\--------

Nary a breath could be heard, only the crunch of earth with every deliberate step Anthony and Simon took apart. The weapon felt foreign in Anthony’s hands, as he self-consciously flexed his fingers along his path. Not months before he was fucking Sienna against a tree trunk in similarly secluded conditions. What should have been a rather fond memory was now just another reminder of his failure. His responsibility shirked again on the day his sister was to debut before Her Majesty the Queen and the Ton.

_“Do you even care that Simon has dishonored me, as you say? Or is it your own male pride that you seek to satisfy?”_

Anthony wondered why he was doing this. He never did truly address his sister’s pointed accusation. Perhaps, this was his way out of the life that was slowly choking him out. His father had been a beacon to the entire family. Anthony was not equipped to follow suit, and if he were, certainly not this soon. His father should have been here…he should _still_ be here.

It was comical really, just how disastrous his run as the Viscount Bridgerton had been. It was no matter. He was tired of suffocating under the weight of expectation and duty. And so, he thought it merciful to come to this end, for himself and his family. Anthony drew his deepest breath, as he came to a stop.

\--------

Whatever nervousness Simon may have felt did not betray itself in his actions. With every methodical pace he drew one step closer to his demise. He supposed, if he thought about it, this was what his life was leading to all along. Once his father had banished him, he was never supposed to live, to thrive. Never supposed to become the Duke of Hastings. He had already spited his father by lasting this long.

It was almost perfunctory the way Simon was carrying on, as if he were taking a casual stroll, or perhaps, promenading with a certain someone. No, he could not go down that line of thinking. He would not…

Why had he diverted his trip? Why had he attended the Trowbridge Ball and tortured himself further? If he were honest, he would admit that he simply could not depart without seeing her one last time. Without experiencing, if even for just a moment, what might have been. The life of a man born out of love, taught to provide and accept such affections freely.

It was a selfish act to rouse her so, of that Simon had no illusions. But he simply could not bear to go on without savoring her lips just once. And now he knew. The irrevocable sensation of satiation. Never had Simon felt such an explosion of euphoria transmitted throughout his body, burning his skin on its journey. He had stolen a taste of nectar of the Gods, and now was poised for his life to be remanded to restitution. At least he could die with that knowledge. He was ready. Vow intact. Heart full.

And so, as Simon reached the end of the line and slowly turned around, he wore a vacant expression. He calmly raised his arm straight, pointing the gun to the heavens above.

\--------

Simon’s eyes appeared fixed upon Anthony to the sideline observer, but Anthony could see the truth. Instead, it seemed Simon was looking past him, as if Anthony were a mere apparition. _How dare he?_ Anthony was astonished to discover that this duel would be a one-sided affair. _The bastard forced my hand, and now he taunts me_. _Did Hastings think himself a martyr? Was this a trick? A trap?_

Simon’s hand remained raised in the air. What was now assured victory only unnerved Anthony further, as his hand began to tremble. He could not do this, he would not—

“STOP!”

The sudden disturbance startled Anthony into squeezing the trigger. What fell before him nearly took his breath away; a horse bucking wildly and a hooded figure, whom he recognized as his sister.

“Daphne!” cried Simon. He was quicker to react and immediately took off running, as the horse threw her to the ground.

“Sister!” Anthony was sprinting now, determined to beat Simon to his collapsed sister. “Sister! Stand aside.”

Anthony had successfully blocked Simon and began running his hands along Daphne’s body, searching for any signs of life. He noticed his sister’s movements and heard an audible breath. “Oh, good God,” he sighed in relief.

“Are you hurt?” Simon asked with a sense of desperation. While he had only given her a moment to respond, when he didn’t hear an immediate answer, fear began to overtake him. “Tell me!”

At his words, Daphne popped up off the ground and shrugged away Anthony’s attempt at support, “I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots.”

“What the hell do you think you are playing at?” And for that matter how in the world did his sister manage to appear before them?

“Says the man who just shot at me!”

“You just rode into the middle of a duel!” Honestly, his sister confounded him. Anthony’s incredulity was apparently unmatched, as Simon began to turn away and his brothers stood behind the fray.

Daphne dismissed Anthony’s outburst and attempted to meet Simon’s eye. He remained with his back to her.

“I require a moment with the Duke,” dismissing yet another attempt for Anthony to intercede, she emphasized her demands more forcefully, “I require a moment with the Duke.”

Recognizing the imperative tone of his sister’s request and quietly eager for a peaceful resolution, Benedict intervened. He physically restrained Anthony and looked towards his sister, “Make it brief.”

\--------

Daphne did not wait to see if Simon would follow, as she began walking away from her brothers. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and she attempted to calm her nerves. She was not sure what she had expected to find exactly. Her only focus, or hope really, was that she was not too late. It was rather stressful to ride at dawn, especially given Colin’s vague instruction. There were so many bloody trees it was easy to lose hope during the journey. 

But when she had happened upon the scene and noted two men still standing, she thanked the heavens and beckoned her horse faster. She could not afford to let her guard down. If she had taken a moment, she would admit riding into the middle of a duel was not one of her brightest decisions. What other choice did she have when faced with the prospect of losing two men who—well, her brother, whom she loved; and Simon, her…friend.

Daphne stopped once she believed they were out of earshot, and turned to see Simon approaching. Before she could utter a word, he cut her off.

“You should not have come, my mind has not changed,” utilizing a nonchalant tone, he shifted to avoid her gaze. He looked to the ground hopeful that his performative detachment would have the desired effect.

Daphne persisted undeterred, “It must. If not for your sake, then mine.”

She moved her head as she spoke, following Simon’s movements with her eyes, willing him to look at her. “Simon, we were seen. Cressida Cowper witnessed us in the garden. She knows.”

At that, Simon abruptly turned to meet her eyes. He had to witness the consequences of his selfish impulsivity. He searched for the misery and anguish he had likely caused. What he saw instead was an unwavering determination. To what end he was not sure.

“It is not merely your own life that hangs in the balance now. If you do not marry me, I shall be ruined.”

Simon cringed at the thought, for he was already poison to her elegant sensibilities, rotting her from the inside out, “Daphne, I cannot.”

\--------

Across the field Anthony shook his head. He surveyed the surroundings and settled upon Colin sheepishly admiring the trees.

“What is the meaning of this? Why is our sister here?” No one dared to answer nor look anywhere near his direction. Anthony let out an involuntary grunt of disapproval and glanced down at his pocket watch.

He observed the couple (he nearly spat at the thought) and leaned forward, as if a few inches would allow him to decipher their hushed tones.

\--------

Daphne’s eyes remained fixed upon Simon, “Did you not hear me?” Surely, she could not have misread his feelings so spectacularly. Did he not feel anything for her? “Someone knows what we have done. Someone who will surely talk.”

When she still could not elicit a reaction from him, she began to panic. The previous conviction in her voice gave way to a creeping sense of futility, “What possible reason could you have to condemn me to shame and reproach? Do you truly--” Daphne paused for a beat, defeat sinking in, “Do you truly hold me in such low regard?”

“It is because I regard you so highly that I cannot marry you,” Simon would not let such a sentiment hang in the air for even a moment.

Daphne nearly laughed the absurdity. She could not tell if he was simply mocking her, “I know you do not love me, but I never thought you could despise me so.”

“Daphne,” It pained his soul to hear her speak like this. Did she not know the effect her presence had on him? The way he drowned in her aura, basked in her laughter (especially if he was the one to provide it) and eased in her company? She was not the problem. She was never the problem. It was him. Could she not see?

“You must know if we were to wed. I can never give you children. It is your dream to be a mother is it not? To have a household full of love and laughter like the one you have known all your life.”

A life Simon would certainly never know. He could not allow himself to bring her down with him. He could not soil and pillage her life so; feeding upon her love and affection, while sucking her dry. He was verdigris on her copper. Of course, had he bothered to ask her, he would know she quite liked the effects of oxidation on copper. The heavy metal was rather bland and unsightly otherwise in her estimation.

“You deserve nothing less. You deserve everything your heart desires. But I cannot—”

“You cannot,” Daphne interrupted. She squinted at Simon, recognizing a pattern in his phrasings, “You say you _cannot_ marry. You say you _cannot_ have children. How could that be possible?”

“Daphne, I—”

“We must resume before someone shall find us,” Anthony cut in. He had been standing for what felt like ages in silence with his brothers and could not take it any longer. From the little he gathered on his walk over, the conversation appeared contentious. 

Simon moved to take his leave, but stopped at Daphne’s words, “Brother, I am not finished with the Duke.” Before Anthony could protest further, she added, “If our business is not concluded within the next five minutes, then you shall have my blessing to resume.”

Anthony reluctantly nodded and began to retreat, reaching for his watch.

“Well?” Daphne felt her legs shake, as anxiety threatened to consume her entire body.

“I am capable…in the literal sense,” Simon began slowly. He had never intended on even revealing that much. But Daphne’s presence often left him flustered; unable to be as discreet with his thoughts as he had become accustomed. He searched his mind for the simplest explanation he could muster, “But certainly, I cannot not provide all that you deserve.”

“Simon—"

“Daphne, I would ruin you. I would ruin you,” he spoke softly.

Unable to contain the bubbling of emotions, Daphne erupted, “I am already ruined!”

Daphne knew they had not a moment to spare. She could not explain; how the game of pretend that once invigorated her, now wilted in comparison to their intimate interactions. She also, did not realize how Simon interpreted such a statement; how it confirmed to him the torment he brought to anyone who dared get close.

“Simon, we do not have much time, as my brother has made abundantly clear. I do not wish to see you die, and I certainly do not wish to permanently mar my family’s social standing.”

It was not the argument Daphne preferred to make. She had wanted to tell him how all of her life she had dreamt of a love as pure as the one her parents had found. And how she believed she had found it with him. She could not be sure, as there was no metaphor quite strong enough to convey the deep ache she felt whenever she thought of him, nor the flutter in her stomach whenever he was near (nor the warmth that tore through her body from limb to limb when he looked at her). But based on her mama’s instruction, she at least knew their unmistakable friendship was special, despite what he had said. They shared a certain wavelength of understanding, manifested in their conversation, their banter, their laughter.

She suspected if she had attempted to broach these subjects, he would not be receptive. As many hours as she had spent studying his eyes, movements, expressions, and moods, she still could not quite read him. So, she had decided to appeal to the sense of honor that she knew he possessed.

“You do not know how mortifying it is to have to stand here and beg this of you, but it is what I am prepared to do. Please, your Grace. We must marry. Do I not deserve at least that?” Daphne inhaled and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain centered.

This is what he had driven her to; this is how low she was forced to go. He struggled to keep his breath, his shoulders heaving. Simon felt physically ill to see her in this state, even more so to know that he was the cause of it. 

Daphne was not sure how long they had been standing there in silence. It was unnatural for them to feel so encumbered in each other’s presence, for the air to seem so oppressive in its humidity. She moved forward, if this was to be her last moment with him…

“Bridgerton!” Simon bellowed with an energy reminiscent of the time he had reunited with his old friend at the Danbury Ball, coincidentally the same moment he had first met Daphne. His voice sliced through the surroundings with such an intensity that it almost sounded like a gunshot had fired.

Simon started walking towards the waiting men. Daphne wanted to shout, to scream. Yet she felt rooted to the spot. She momentarily shook her head and took off after Simon.

Anthony grabbed the weapon from Benedict, and nodded at Will to retrieve Simon’s gun. Just as Anthony was to reiterate his instructions to Benedict, Simon continued, “There will be no need to resume. Miss Bridgerton and I are to be married.” 

Anthony stood, gawking at the man before him. Benedict closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief. Will went to Simon’s side and clamped a hand on his shoulder in approval.

Daphne froze a few paces away. He had acquiesced. She could scarcely believe it. Her body went numb and her mind jumbled. She reached up to her cheek to wipe a tear that never materialized. Never had she experienced such a potpourri of emotions. There was a part of her that was pleased, and just the same that flicker of positivity was subdued by the humiliation of her desperation. Yet, her mind innately pushed these thoughts to the side and entered crisis mode. She had already switched gears and began plotting out how to proceed.

“Sister! You see it is as I told you,” Colin said with such an uninhibited enthusiasm that Anthony wondered if his brother was regarding an entirely different situation. As Colin bounced towards their sister, Anthony heard him say something vaguely about gentlemen and duels.

“We shall draw up the documentation at once and request an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license. I will need your show of support when we are granted an audience,” Simon was unsure from where he was summoning this lucidity.

Anthony remained in a bit of a daze, unable to process the events that had just unfolded. Benedict decided to step in, perhaps to cap off a moment which might have seen him be the one to answer, “Yes, Hastings, we shall reconvene later this morning.”

Anthony growled, disoriented at his utter lack of control. He brought a hand to his head and grabbed at the hair by his forehead, hoping to jar himself out of this stupor. Anthony nodded at Simon, then proceeded to call out for his younger two siblings, “Daff, Colin! We must make haste and return home before anyone is the wiser.”

As Simon mounted his horse, Daphne quickly made her way to him, “Shall we promenade tomorrow morning, your Grace. 10 o’clock?” She had calculated that a public stroll would be the first step in crafting their narrative.

Simon nodded, “I will send word to Lady Danbury.”

Amidst all the bustle and urgent movement, Daphne could not quite meet Simon’s eyes. She watched as he rode off with Will. Before she could think too deeply, Anthony called on her once again, “Sister let us go.”

Daphne moved to mount her horse. Benedict noted the lack of a side saddle, “Daff, riding astride I see.”

Benedict’s eyes twinkled with mischief, which served to lift Daphne’s spirits. She even managed a small smile.

“Don’t be the last one home!” Colin yelled as he rode by.

Anthony lingered a moment, regarding the area. _Cursed_. _Absolutely cursed._


	2. Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a rather strange feeling, to accept death and persist on. Anthony supposed a new lease on life was thought upon as a second chance. But Anthony did not feel reborn, he felt undead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support thus far! Much appreciated.

“I did not overindulge. Truly it was just a poor night of sleep.”

Violet knew her words were hardly convincing. There she sat in the drawing room, hair disheveled, face haggard with a faint moisture coating her pores. Had she glanced at a mirror, or perhaps Mrs. Wilson’s concerned expression, she might have shriveled in indignity. Still, she presently derived more agitation from the utter cacophony of emotions swimming about her mind.

She should be pleased, happy even. Why had the prospect of her daughter becoming a princess unnerved her so? She rarely lost her wits to the bottle, certainly not at society events and certainly not on the night her eldest daughter was to be engaged.

The title had never mattered to her, of course. Violet had always hoped, perhaps unrealistically, for her children to experience the very affection that had enriched her life. She took pride in the mores her and Edmund were able to provide their children; the intangible notions of devotion, honor, respect and, trite as it may have sounded, love.

The Prince was a kind enough man, to be sure. From the little she had seen his intentions and actions were similarly honorable; but _his_ affections were no matter to her. Despite Daphne’s assertions, Violet saw the twinkle in her eyes, the flush of her skin, and the uninhibited laughter she had exhibited with the Duke; and Violet had found comfort in the impending couple.

Daphne’s success in finding a love match had been a nice reprieve from the growing sense that Violet was losing grip of her family. Anthony remained closed off since Edmund’s death. She had witnessed his struggle, at times losing patience and offering a stern word in the hopes of jarring him into a change. Benedict had been living a life of aimless listlessness in her estimation; Colin had seemed the most receptive to her teachings, but he had talked increasingly of travel; and Eloise had positively rejected any notion of living within the current bounds of society. With Francesca safely away in Bath perfecting her pianoforte, and dear Gregory and Hyacinth too young to factor into such matters, Daphne’s prospects had become a source of inspiration.

Now, as she carefully dabbed at the droplets of water on her cheek, she contemplated her next move. Surely, she must put on a brave face and support Daphne to the best of her ability. With a renewed vigor, she waved away Mrs. Wilson’s fussing hands, “I am fine to be sure. Has Daphne awakened?”

“Not yet, ma’am,” Mrs. Wilson replied. She was hopeful to convince Lady Bridgerton to take in a rather unappetizing concoction for medicinal purposes; partly to alleviate the effects of the previous night’s indulgences, and partly to lessen the potential work load should she find need to wretch in the chamber pot.

“And what of Anthony? Is he in?”

“Not yet, ma’am,” Mrs. Wilson sighed. This would be a long day indeed.

\--------

It was a rather strange feeling, to accept death and persist on. Anthony supposed a new lease on life was thought upon as a second chance. But Anthony did not feel reborn, he felt undead. Walking through to the drawing room of Hastings house, he was certain his appearance matched his internal discord, what with the subtle lingering stares he noted from various staff.

As Anthony lowered himself to sit, a sudden piercing noise assaulted his ear drums, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and grab wildly at his forehead. He nearly slapped himself in frustration. He had not even attempted to sleep that morning upon returning from that fateful field. His mind kept forcing him back there in a visceral manner. He could see himself, arm stretched, gun in hand, fingers trembling. He could see Basset, rather Hastings, all but forcing his hand for the second time that night.

Anthony felt much like a puppet, his strings being pulled every which way. His pride challenged by the man he had considered his best of friends. A man he had trusted implicitly, even amidst all the doubts he had possessed towards the curious courtship of his sister. His misjudgment, his weakness had led his sister down a very dark path. Hastings had played with his sister’s honor, and now with his own. He had nearly made a killer of him. Condemned him to a life of ignominy. And yet, despite this reality averted, his sister remained in the crossfire. He had failed her, for deep inside, he knew the shot he had fired was never quite on course…

“His Grace the Duke of Hastings, My Lord,” Jeffries announced.

Anthony struggled to look up. His eyes remained covered with his palm.

\--------

“Bridgerton,” Simon addressed with nary a hesitation. For his part, he had given over full focus to the many tasks before him. He felt energized, though he knew it was merely a trick of the mind. After all, he had much practice burying feelings of despair and anguish. As a child, he found it comforting to throw himself into his duties and studies.

He remembered the day he had first learned of the wonder of philosophy. Lady Danbury had found him rather difficult, refusing to partake in the day’s activities. He had just sent his second set of letters to his father and had still yet heard from him. He began to lose faith in the process of his transformation. There was no making sense of this society, nor his place within it. Sensing his inner turmoil, Lady Danbury sent him on a hunt to answer the question, “Who did Alexander the Great wish to be if not Alexander the Great?” Simon could never resist a challenge, and so he combed through any information he could find on the Macedonian conqueror.

He skimmed the various passages, hoping to notice a clue of some kind. He had spent countless hours in the library, looking through book after book, work after work. Finally, the day nearing its end, he noted a book on the table, titled The Skeptic. How had he missed that? Simon opened the cover and began reading, furrowing his brow, taking in the words before him. Before long Simon giggled. As if on cue, Lady Danbury re-entered the library, “Well do you have an answer for me, dear boy?”

He nodded gleefully, “I-If he w-were not Alexander the G-Great, then he s-should wish to be Diogenes!”

Simon nearly smiled at the memory. He wondered what would have become of his life had he simply taken on the Diogenes approach; officially renounced his titles and lived a most curious life of squalor. He shook his head and grounded himself in the present, for he had important business to discuss with Anthony. He knew their relationship was likely irreparably damaged, but he hoped to push such thoughts aside for more practical solutions to the matter at hand.

“Right, Bridgerton, I have made inquiries to the Office of the Master of Faculties. They regret to inform us that His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury is not currently in London.”

At this Anthony’s head jerked upwards. He set his eyes upon Simon for the first time. Simon appeared quite composed, only betrayed by the unmistakable glossy haze over his eyes. Recalibrating his thoughts to this most cursed of unions, Anthony searched for a solution.

“What? Is it not his duty to preside here? Pray tell where is he?” Anthony cleared his throat, his voice sounded rather rough.

Simon frowned, as he had not actually inquired on the details. He turned to Jeffries.

“Apparently, Canterbury, My Lord,” Jeffries answered. At the moment Jeffries wished to leave the room. The tension was palpable, and he did not want the burden of intervening in between a physical altercation. The apparent niceties only frightened him further.

“The Archbishop of Canterbury is in Canterbury, how lovely,” Anthony chuckled ruefully, “What options have we left? Perhaps a common license would do?”

Simon nodded, “Yes that was my thinking exactly, however I worried about the timeliness of the matter, considering we would need to then marry in the Mayfair parish, which I hear can be rather busy.”

Anthony sneered, “Well perhaps timeliness, as you say, would not be a factor had you minded your honor,” he could not hide his derision any longer, “and for that matter where were you planning on getting married with a special license, a drawing room?”

Simon closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, “Wherever Miss Bridgerton preferred given our situation.” He knew that he deserved Anthony’s contempt, but he could not help but methodically carry on his mission, “Now, as we are to procure a common license, we will be beholden to a parish wedding.”

Simon’s perceived detachment only angered Anthony further, “Look at you! Do you even care? Do you grasp the severity of what you have done?” Anthony had long risen from his seat, and charged forward.

Simon kept his head to the side, hopeful to deescalate matters, “I know what I have done, and I will pay for my sins for all time. I know you no longer trust me—”

Anthony laughed in a rather menacing tone.

“But I assure you,” Simon turned to meet Anthony in the eyes, “I will do everything in my power to take care of your sister. She is my responsibility now, and whatever you may think of me, I take that with the utmost seriousness.”

The two men stood for a beat, eye to eye. Anthony conceded first, and let out a grunt of discontent, “I have the proper documentation swearing that Daphne is eligible to be married and that I _support_ the union.”

He nearly spat out the words. He felt sick, to have resigned his sister to this fate; to have no control over the situation.

“I will submit our application to the Bishop of London. We shall marry as soon as possible at St. George’s, Hanover Square, preferably within the next 5 days,” Simon turned to his staff already moving on, “Jeffries! We must make haste at once.”

Jeffries bowed and left to prepare for the journey, relieved at His Grace’s restraint.

Simon regarded Anthony once more, “Bridgerton, I will call on your sister and mother this evening should I have adequate time.”

Anthony nodded in resignation. He could not go home. He could not face his sister, his mother, to face his failure. He nearly dry heaved at the thought.

\-------

Daphne sat at a desk in the library with a pensive look on her face. Crumpled sheets of stationary were strewn across the floor, a quill in hand. This correspondence was proving harder than she had originally anticipated. She exhaled, blowing a particularly gusty bit of air in front of her, momentarily displacing the bangs on her forehead.

She had taken special care to avoid her family today. She was not ready to share the news, not when she had barely taken it in herself. Daphne was never one to be prone to insecurity. From a young age she had prided herself on her rather versatile nature. She had always found it easy to befriend others, to be what they needed her to be. It was why she had always enjoyed the prospect of courting. Growing up she would perfect the art of being a witty conversationalist, a meek observer, a flatterer, and anything in between. There was no question to which she did not know how to answer. No silence too uncomfortable that a disarming word could not fix.

Yet as she had come to realize, none of those skills prepared her for the rather daunting task of communicating when the show was over and the curtains had closed. The intensity of her emotions clouded her ability to think clearly, to say, or in this case write, the proper phrasings. She was no longer capable of partaking in this game of pretend, because she could no longer discern fact from fiction. The lines had long blurred once the ill-fated ruse with Simon had begun. It was not long before the only person she was fooling was herself, a fact of which she was acutely aware for quite some time.

A rustling sound jarred Daphne from her thoughts. She turned to see Hyacinth attempting to tip toe out of the room, a crumpled paper covertly nestled between her hands, “Hyacinth!”

Exasperated, Daphne walked to her youngest sister and offered her hand. Hyacinth considered being coy, before sighing and handing over the paper, “Sister what have you been doing? Mother has been looking for you,” the rambunctious girl could barely contain her enthusiasm, “Has the Prince asked for your hand?”

“I am not sure how I can be expected to answer so many questions at once,” Daphne returned to her seat. Before she could protest, Hyacinth ran over to the desk and craned her neck to see “Prince Friedrich” written in ink.

“You are writing to the Prince! Sister! A love letter!” Before Daphne could respond, Hyacinth skipped out of the room.

Daphne shook her head and muttered, “That girl…” well there was no sense in hiding anymore. She knew it was a matter of time before her mother materialized before her.

\--------

Hyacinth ran through the drawing room, nearly tripping over Benedict’s outstretched leg. He was positively luxuriating on the chaise with Eloise’s head in her journal beside him. Their mother remained in a bit of a daze sat across from them. Benedict simply attributed her subdued mood to the fun she had enjoyed last night, as Colin had explained to him. Benedict held in a snicker at the thought.

“Daphne is writing a love letter to the Prince!” Hyacinth exclaimed. Violet snapped to attention at the news.

“Your sister, where is she?”

“She is in the corner of the library! You should see it, so many papers all about!”

Violet left the room at once, so Hyacinth turned her attentions to her sister, “Is it not wonderful Eloise!”

“Yes, yes. Now our dear sister will be left to learn a language she does do not know, so that she may live in a country with not an ally in sight. Perhaps pop out a few babies. Maybe visit us once a year. How wonderful indeed,” Eloise prattled on with disinterest, as she continued leafing through her journal.

Hyacinth ran off to find her governess to report back her new findings. Eloise felt Benedict nudge her shoulder and she glanced at him in confusion, “What?”

“Might you lighten up a bit?”

“Now that Daphne is a Princess of Prussia, is it?”

Benedict smirked, content to keep the truth to himself before frowning lightly. He looked to Eloise, “You know…we are lucky.”

“Whatever do you mean? To not be a Princess? That is a certainty indeed.”

“Yes…well…no. I mean—”

“Benedict just come out with it. It is hurting my head to listen to you talk in circles,” Eloise interrupted.

“For a few seconds, minutes even, I felt it,” Benedict stopped, careful to not reveal too much.

“Felt what?” Eloise had now closed her journal, disconcerted at her brother’s disposition.

“What they feel, Anthony and Daphne,” Benedict was struggling to find the right words.

“What are you withholding from me?”

“Nothing,” Benedict had answered too quickly to be believed, but carried on, “Just, well, try to be a little easier on them. I would not trade our lives for theirs that is for sure.”

Eloise was left perplexed and Benedict immediately straightened up and took his leave.

\--------

“Daphne, dearest. Where have you been all day?”

Violet tentatively entered the room, noting the clutter of papers. She came up beside her daughter and placed a hand upon her shoulder. She smiled when Daphne leaned into her touch.

“Mama, I have been just here,” Daphne had spent the last few moments parsing out the best way to inform her mother of last night’s events.

“Yes, I hear congratulations are in order?” Violet rubbed her hands along Daphne’s back, as if to coax a response.

“Yes, Mama I am engaged…to the Duke,” Daphne braced herself for the reaction.

Violet was nearly stunned into silence. An immediate grin spread across her cheeks, her earlier forlornness long forgotten, “Oh darling that is wonderful news!” She put her arm around Daphne’s shoulder and squeezed her tight, “My word how lovely,” she looked down at her daughter’s stoic expression, “how do you feel? It is what you wanted, ruse or no ruse, yes?”

Daphne allowed a small smile to grace her lips, “Yes we are very happy indeed.”

Daphne still had not a clue how to speak to anyone anymore it seemed. She had no idea if she was telling a lie just then. Her mind remained so jumbled she could not even think straight. She had decided within the past couple of hours that she simply could not resolve the dissonance in her mind without having a serious conversation with Simon. She did not know where he stood, and so she did not know where she stood.

Observing her daughter’s vacant expression, Violet surmised that Daphne was reliving the no doubt joyous proposal, “Tell me, how did he propose? And what is this I heard about a love letter to the Prince?”

“Ugh, Hyacinth!” Daphne turned to face her mother, “I was attempting to notify him of my decision and thank him for his attentions, but I just do not know what to say. I do not wish to offend him nor Her Majesty the Queen! And now I do not even have his necklace to return—” Daphne’s eyes widened at the information she had let slip.

“What happened to the necklace, you wore it last night did you not?” Violet was growing concerned at the unevenness of her daughter’s countenance.

“I do not wish to lie to you Mama…last night the Duke and I, well we partook in certain activities,” Daphne felt blush creep up her neck to her cheeks.

“You need not say more! Whatever happened between the two of you, it is perfectly all right.”

“It is?” Daphne was surprised to hear such talk from her mother. She was under the impression that her mother had been the very picture of propriety and restraint.

“Yes, dear I know good society makes quite a fuss about such things, but when it comes to love such things happen. Even your father and I struggled to control our urges. Oh!” Violet was squealing now at the realization, “You are marrying for love! Just like we always wanted!”

Daphne furrowed her brow while adorning a smile, hoping clarity would grace her presence soon.

\--------

The Bridgerton family had convened outside the dining room, buzzing about the day’s news. As they waited on dinner to begin, it was almost like any other day. Hyacinth and Gregory were running amuck. Eloise was telling a wild tale of a novel she had been reading, while Benedict leaned against the wall rubbing his stomach.

Colin walked over to Daphne pulling her close, “Sister, how are you feeling?”

Daphne sighed, “Oh, I do not know. How is one supposed to feel after getting engaged?”

“Hmmm, perhaps breathtakingly smitten,” Colin placed a hand over his heart for dramatic effect, eliciting a giggle out of Daphne. He always did relish in making her laugh.

“I suppose you are right. You must tell me how you did become such an expert.”

Violet entered the room looking around, “Where has Anthony been all day?”  
Met with no response she simply shook her head.

Humboldt appeared before the family, “His Grace the Duke of Hastings calling for Lady Bridgerton and Miss Bridgerton!”

Daphne’s breath caught in her throat upon the sight of him. No matter what she was feeling, she always had a physical reaction to his presence. She felt her body begin moving towards him, as if involuntarily drawn to him, “Your grace.”

Simon tried to ignore the pounding in his chest as she came close. He was rather self-conscience about the sound, certain everyone in the room would hear it. He dared look down to meet her eyes, noting a certain fondness, which surprised him.

“Your Grace!” Violet was pleased to see the love match together, “please you must join us for dinner!”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Simon nodded to her, before realizing the other siblings were staring at him, “Bridgertons…” he was not sure he had ever felt so…uneasy. All eyes were on him and no one was saying a word. He only relaxed slightly when he felt a soft touch on his arm.

Daphne leaned into Simon’s ear, “I need to speak with you after dinner privately,” Daphne paused and turned to her eavesdropping family, “or privately as is possible with this lot,”

Simon could barely concentrate on Daphne’s words as he felt the warmth of her breath on his neck. Before he could answer he yelped, as something hit the back of his leg.

“Sorry!” Gregory buzzed by chasing after a lost marble.

“Gregory!” Violent took off to reprimand her son.

Simon reached down to rub the back of his calf, when Hyacinth hopped in front of him, "Simon!"

Daphne nearly cringed at her youngest sister’s familiarity, “Hyacinth ‘tis the Duke of Hastings or Your Grace,” Daphne froze as she felt Simon’s hand brush over her back.

“It is quite alright dear Miss Hyacinth, you may call me Simon,” he leaned forward as if to share a secret, ”I do find all those honorifics rather dreary,” he smiled at the young lady.

Hyacinth practically beamed at the interaction.

“Come, come, dinner is being served,” Violet returned to usher the family in.

Simon took a deep breath, accustomed to a life of solitude, the prospect of fitting into a large family was an uncomfortable adjustment. He looked towards Daphne. He could not read her expression, but she took his offered arm as they walked to the dining room.

Before they could find their seats, Humboldt appeared before the family again, clearing his throat, “His Highness Prince Friedrich of Prussia calling for Miss Bridgerton.”


End file.
